


The Chase Space Coffee Shop

by gaymingtrash



Category: Life Is Strange (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Enemies to Lovers, Eventual Fluff, F/F, From Sex to Love, Hurt/Comfort, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Slow Burn, Some Humor
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-23
Updated: 2017-02-21
Packaged: 2018-08-10 12:16:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,640
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7844566
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gaymingtrash/pseuds/gaymingtrash
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Victoria is not enjoying working in the coffee shop that belongs to her parents' gallery. She starts at Blackwell in the fall, but until then, she has to put up with the interesting people of Arcadia Bay. Particularly interesting is Chloe Price.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Rated Teen for now, but additional tags may appear/change as more chapters are uploaded. There's an outline and a plan going on here, so this fic shouldn't end up in hiatus hell.
> 
> I talk about this fic (and other, mostly gay, mostly video games stuff) as gaymingtrash on tumblr, if you want to find me there!

Things that were cool: Victoria’s parents owning an exclusive, prestigious art gallery. Things that were less cool: Victoria’s employment at the gallery’s adjoining coffee shop. Things that would never be cool, ever: The shitty scratchy nylon barista’s apron she had to wear as part of her uniform. It had _Chase Space_ embroidered on it, permanent boxy folds, and it made her itch just to look at it.

She’d warned all her friends to stay away during her working hours, on pain of death, so at least nobody who mattered would see her wear it. Courtney seemed legitimately terrified, which suited her, but her hackles still rose every time somebody the right kind of age to be a Blackwell student come September walked in.

One such day arrived. The coffee shop existed to sell more art, the more accessible pieces hung up on the walls next to comfy chairs where drinkers would consider acquiring “new assets” over their hot beverages in tiny cups. To an untrained eye, shabby looking customers often dropped the most cash, but Victoria had been around art types long enough to recognise when an old ratty cardigan actually cost her year’s wages. The two teenage girls who walked in that day in a pleather jacket and plaid were legit shabby, and Victoria had no intentions of wasting her nice customer service voice on them.

“Hi. Your orders?” The briefest of all the coffee shop spiels, through a gritted teeth smile for the pleasure of the CCTV cameras watching (but not listening to) her work.

“Medium Americano, please. Or whatever you’ve got that’s strong and black,” Jacket Girl said. She had this punk thing going on with the blue hair and bullets necklace, which admittedly looked pretty good on her, and her friend did pull off that 90s grunge plaid thing, but they both stuck out more than the art on the walls.

“She likes her coffee like she likes her men,” Plaid Girl quipped, receiving a playful shove for her efforts. Victoria resisted the urge to roll her eyes. Actual employment helped her CV, and her parents wouldn’t sacrifice their good image for one barista’s job, even for their kid. So she had to be nice to their clients.

“Just because you have a weird older man crush on Morgan Freeman, Rach, doesn’t mean we all do.” Plaid Girl, presumably Rachel, giggled. “I don’t even _like_ men, strong, black, extra froth, or otherwise,” Jacket Girl added, throwing Victoria an exasperated look, as if she were in on it. Which she wasn’t.

“Name?” she asked, choosing to ignore the previous exchange.

“Yours first,” Jacket Girl said, and she grinned. They were laughing at her, she could tell, and she would have loved to know what the joke was about if she actually gave a fuck. Which she didn’t. 

“Victoria,” she said, holding eye contact. She wouldn’t let the two of them embarrass her that easily, whatever their deal was.

“Chloe. Price. Chloe Price.” Blue eyes staring into brown, it didn’t look like Chloe planned to back down either. Victoria’s gaze felt a lot harder than Chloe’s looked to her, though.

Rachel snorted. “Bond, James Bond,” she muttered beside her. “Shaken, not stirred.” Chloe rolled her eyes at her companion, and the moment was over.

Deliberately, Victoria wrote _CLEO_ on the order ticket. “Will that be all?” She looked at Rachel, who hadn’t asked for anything.

“Oh, sure, I’m just here to watch the show,” Rachel said perkily, which… whatever. She didn’t get paid enough for this. Chloe handed over the drinks money in small, exact change that she rummaged around in her pockets for as Victoria rung up the purchase. She was on the till and on the machines, because she’d been bailed on for her shift again, but at least the queue didn’t go beyond these two weirdos.

The roar of the grinder and espresso machine drowned out the shop chatter, the loudest moment of peace she’d ever had to seek out. She didn’t want to know what the two girls were talking about now, even as Rachel pressed a cash note into Chloe’s hand. Her face went red next to the blue of her hair, but Victoria just focused on the coffee.

“Medium Americano for Cleo,” she said back at the counter, sliding the drink and its saucer deftly onto a tray with the receipt.

“Thanks, Tori,” Chloe replied. She squeezed a tightly rolled cash tip into the nearby jar, and took her tray. “Have a nice day now!” she said, before turning and heading to a nearby table.

Well, that was strange.

* * *

“Oh my God. ‘Have a nice day now’? Is that what I sound like? Kill me now. Put me out of my misery, and send me to lesbian valhalla.” Chloe buried her face in her hands, knowing that Rachel had probably stolen her drink while she couldn’t see her.

“You did fine,” Rachel said, and Chloe peeked through her fingers to see that Rachel was totally laughing at her. And drinking her coffee. “It’s cute, you trying to be all butch and confident. But you’re not allowed to run away now, that there is what hurts your chances, babe.”

“Galpalla,” Chloe said, ignoring her. “That’s where I’ll go.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The tables are turned, and now it's Victoria's time to see Chloe at work, not that she wanted it that way.

Chloe thought about that brief snatch of conversation all the way home, replaying it over and over in her mind until she was pitch perfect on every cadence, and thoroughly assured they were stupid cadences that sucked. She and Rachel parted ways with Rachel’s blessing that Victoria would appear in the Two Whales the next day. Chloe hoped she wouldn’t, but come the next morning, she found herself scanning the booths for the girl in the oversized “fuck off” shades, even as she tried to forget about her.

* * *

Hangover breakfast at the Two Whales was a tradition for Victoria now, one she didn’t want to share with anyone else. She didn’t want to talk to anybody while she ate. She didn’t want Taylor trying to spin it as “quirky” so it would be cool for her to be there, either. It really wasn’t cool, it was a fritz-y jukebox and truckers and stewed coffee kind of diner. It also had the greasiest, fattiest, most beautiful fried breakfast known to man. One time, the first bite of bacon tasted so good, and she was so tired, and so hungry, she actually made a noise.

People turned around.

She brought sunglasses the next time.

She didn’t want to be seen, she just wanted to eat. Like church, if religion was a thing she did, sacred and private. A new bottle of ketchup sitting on the table stood as an omen of good news that morning, after the previous night’s rager.

“Are you ready to order?” The voice came from above, and Victoria didn’t even throw a glance its way as she rattled off her usual order.

“Homestyle eggs and bacon, two slices of toast, and a coffee. Black. Please.”

“Oatmeal and iced tea for Tori, coming right up!” The nickname broke the routine, and Victoria looked up to her server. She recognised her as that blue-haired girl from the day before. She continued to look at her, and her cute, perky smile that early in the morning affronted her. Even with customer service face on, she had that effortless punk vibe the skater guys of Arcadia Bay failed to pull off, and confidence that made Victoria feel like the butt of a joke. Again. She wasn’t even wearing makeup behind the sunglasses. Maybe if she glared hard enough, she’d go all magical girl transformation and be immaculately made up again. Superpowers optional, but welcome.

“Seriously? Do you harass all your customers?” The question came out with more bite than she wanted, insecurity giving way to frustration. Victoria never went back on her words, though, she wouldn’t start now.

“Sorry,” Chloe said, dropping the chirpy act. “Eggs and bacon, two toasts, black coffee. I’m good at my job, promise.” 

She left, and Victoria heard her correct order echoed back to Joyce behind the counter. She racked her brain, trying to remember if she’d seen Chloe before. If she worked there, and Victoria ate there regularly (which she did) she should have recognised her? But then, she’d be kidding herself if she acted like she ever paid attention to her surroundings in that place. She’d learned to tune out police sirens and mangy dogs by now, and enough customers had blanked her to show that service staff can be invisible at the best of times. Even ones that looked like Chloe.

Victoria had her chin rested in her hands, wondering if she could fall asleep there, when she was rudely interrupted. Her plate clattered down in front of her and startled her back to full attention.

“Alright, my mom doesn’t pay me to chat — she doesn’t really pay me much at all — so I’ll be quick. I came into your work yesterday because you come here a lot and I thought you were cute. I also thought maybe you might be a little less murder-y if I didn’t catch you hanging, but I made a bad call there. Let’s call it quits, and I’ll stop worrying about what’d happen if looks could kill, okay?” Chloe sounded hassled, and she reeled off her little speech without waiting for Victoria to acknowledge her.

Victoria blinked. “You’ve been annoying me because you thought I was cute?” She still felt insulted, and she wasn’t sure why, which pissed her off more. People hitting on her, even people who fucking sucked at hitting on people, rarely wound her up this much. 

“Or because I have a death wish, who knows,” Chloe said. Her arms crossed in front of her defensively, and she was looking everywhere but at Victoria, avoiding eye contact. The obvious kind thing would be to let Chloe go back to work.

“So, what, you were going to ask me on a date?” Victoria said. Screw kindness, she wanted to know what her deal was.

“Dude, let it go, I already said—” Victoria threw up a hand, a stop-talking-right-now gesture, which Chloe did. She rummaged around in her bag for a pen, pulling out an eyeliner instead, and neatly put down 10 digits on a napkin before folding it. She’d probably regret it, but leaving it here would be a rejection for being too “murder-y”, and fuck that. She’d quit on her own terms if she wanted, but she wasn’t being removed from the running in the same breath as finding out she was in it.

She held it out to Chloe, who backed up a little like she was brandishing a weapon. “I’m calling your bluff. This is my phone number. Text me when you’re finished here, and if any creeps call me asking me for a good time, I’ll have you fired.”

There was a moment where it looked like Chloe wasn’t going to take it, where her pulse drummed angrily and Chloe just stared. Then it was out of her hand.

Victoria pointed a short manicured nail at her plate of food, miraculously still steaming. “I’m going to eat my food now. Bye, Cleo!”

Chloe snorted, but she left, napkin in hand. “Bye, Tori,” she said over her shoulder, and Victoria watched as she tucked the folded napkin into her bra, with no attempt at discretion. One of the truckers whistled, and Chloe shot back a “fuck off”, but the guy only laughed.

Victoria decided to think that morning’s events through later. For now, she had hangover food to eat, and the breakfast gods had blessed her, even if the people of the world hacked her off. Not only did she have a shiny new ketchup bottle, she also had an extra rasher of bacon.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Maybe the secret to understanding Chloe is not being anywhere near coffee while they speak. Maybe also _knowing_ that the girl is trying to flirt is useful.

When Chloe’s shift at the Two Whales ended, she texted Rachel first.    

> _I’m an ass._

Short, sweet, to the point, and ever-perceptive Rachel would understand exactly what she meant anyway. She always did.    

> _no number? :c_

The reply came near instantly, which suited Chloe fine. The longer she put off leaving the diner, the longer she could avoid speaking to Victoria again.   

> _Told her I didn’t want it, she gave it anyway?_
> 
> _No emoji!_

    

> _chloe_
> 
> _babe_
> 
> _sweets_

The pet names arrived in quick succession, because nobody had told Rachel the rules about double texting.    

> _girl is hot, you got her number. call her. it’s not that hard!_

The little typing notification carried on, and Chloe wondered if she was going to receive more sage relationship advice.  

> _catch you later, gotta go see a man about a dog_

   

> _Fuck you._

Because, again, Rachel would understand what she meant.    

> _ily too babe <3_

* * *

Victoria didn’t know if Chloe actually planned on texting. She didn’t know if she wanted her to, either. The whole thing earlier pulled the rug out from under her, and she wanted to be back on her feet again. If she got the chance, she’d try to be less of a stony cow about it, but she didn’t know if she’d get to.

She sat on the futon in the so-called flat atop the gallery, with her phone face down on the cushion beside her so she could pretend it didn’t exist. The flat was a glorified office extension, with the futon, mini fridge, microwave, and teeny tiny en-suite shower-room. The partition that separated it from the office itself was flimsy enough to let the sounds of typing carry through when people were there.

Her parents used the space if they had to stay in town for work short-term, but for now, Victoria lived there alone. It was independence for the summer until her Blackwell dorm opened up, but Christ did she get bored. There was only so much Netflix to watch to pass the time between parties and work shifts, and parties, sadly, only happened at night.

Her phone buzzed.

She wondered, if it was yet another pizza delivery special offer, if anybody on the floor below would notice if she screamed. She picked it up.  

> _So, we doing this by call or text? - C_

Well, it wasn’t pizza. And she didn’t fancy the idea of waiting for more blunt, initialed off texts. She hit dial.

The phone barely rang before it was picked up, and Victoria’s stomach flipped anxiously when the response came faster than she expected. “Hello?”

“It’s Victoria.” Obviously. Why was she doing this to herself, again? “Are you busy?”

“Nope! You?” Chloe sounded cheerful again, and Victoria couldn’t tell authenticity from customer service voice anymore.

“No, obviously.” She swore she didn’t mean to sound as pissed as she managed to. Like resting bitch face, but in her vocal cords. The following pause lasted a fraction of a second too long, and then their words crashed together as they both tried to speak over each other. Rather than go through that whole you-first-oh-no-you-I-insist, Victoria plowed on, fingers crossed that Chloe would shut up and let her speak.

“Let’s cut to the chase, shall we?” she said.

“No pun intended?” Chloe said.

The response Victoria wanted was a derisive scoff. In reality, she snorted. “Uh, no, actually. Do you want to do this now? Or like, give it half an hour to get there, I guess. Unless you have a time machine handy.”

“Nope, no DeLorean, just my truck,” Chloe said. “You about to pop the question too, Tori? Isn’t there meant to be like a three day rule for this shit?”

Victoria began to suspect that the whole “I’m laughing at you” vibe Chloe gave off wasn’t meant to be as hostile as it felt like. Which explained some things.

“A rule for texting, which you already broke, so let’s get this over and done with? Besides, we’re both girls. I don’t want to make my head hurt by trying to work out which one of us is ‘the guy’ for that stuff,” Victoria said.

“Agreed. You might be the pretty one, but my hair is definitely longer than yours,” Chloe said. Victoria felt her face flush a little at the casual compliment, which… was new.

“Please,” Victoria said, with less of her usual bite. “So, your place?”

“Really? I was thinking we could go out for coffee. It’s like our thing now, right?” Chloe said, teasing.

“I just decided I hate coffee,” Victoria deadpanned, and she heard a surprised laugh from the other end of the line. She smiled a little at the sound in spite of herself. “No offense, but I don’t know if I want to be seen out with you yet. I have to think about my image, you know?”

Out loud, the words sounded less direct than flat out cruel, and Victoria cringed. Foot-in-mouth award goes to…

“Welp, I do now,” came the reply. “Call it mine, then, and if you leave early enough, you won’t even have to climb out the window. I’ll text the deets.” The call dropped.

Fuck. How did she always do that? Would it kill her to be nice to somebody flirting with her? Let yourself have the nice thing, Victoria! The sky might not fall in!

She was still berating herself when her phone vibrated, still in her hand. Chloe’s address, and nothing else. She didn’t live too far away, it turned out, only walking distance from the beach. If she brought hard ciders from the fridge, they’d hopefully still be chilled by the time she arrived. Not like an apology or a gift or anything, but she suspected she acted less “murder-y” when a little buzzed. Plus, the sweet, fizzy alcohol reeked less of try-hard underage drinking than the kegs of cheap beer her friends got in from god-knows-where.

She sent a quick text to say she was on her way, before checking her appearance in the compact she kept in her pocket. She’d forgot she still wasn’t wearing any makeup, and now she had like five minutes to apply it in. This had to be karma. Why her.

The eyebrows were a little hastily penciled in, but soon she was out of the door to the outside staircase and on her way. She wasn’t 100% sure why this was happening, but she was past the time to change her mind. One last swipe of the chapstick she kept in her glove compartment, and she had to go.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Did you know trying to write in American-ish is difficult? What do you have against the extra 'l's in initialled and pencilled! I'm getting wiggly red lines all over the place and it's very distressing.)
> 
> Also, I wiggled around with the tags a little - I reworked the outline a little, and the emphasis is less on humor/fluff than it was when I first planned it. I don't actually think the tone is going to look inconsistent from what it's been so far, so much as the tags I first chose not being as appropriate. So if you've liked reading this, please, continue! 
> 
> (Also, please do consider commenting! I don't usually ask, but multi-chapter fics are a bit of a beast for kudos-to-hits, and comments fill me with happy gay joy throughout the day!)


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So Victoria and Chloe _actually_ go on that date. For real.

Victoria knew she could only stand outside Chloe’s house for so long before it’d look weird to be seen there, but she stalled for time regardless, brushing invisible specks of dust off her clothes and fixing her fringe. A deep breath, a slight shake of the head in disbelief, and she sent the text that she was outside.

The door swung open, and Chloe backed up to let Victoria in, with a quick “hey” in greeting.

“I brought booze,” Victoria offered, gesturing with the bag of ciders in lieu of any other response, which gently clinked in agreement. Standing in the hallway of the unfamiliar house felt a little awkward, and she wanted the upper hand back. Alcohol was the obvious solution here. Scientifically speaking, alcohol was technically always a solution. “Do you want to put these in the fridge or something? Like, they should be more than fine, but they got a little warm on the drive.”

“Nah, we’ll just dump all the shit upstairs, we don’t want to make multiple trips. Also, you drove? I didn’t see a car,” Chloe said.

She had her back to Victoria as she walked to the kitchen and indiscriminately pulled out random drawers she passed, Victoria following shortly behind and walking around all the sudden obstacles. “Corkscrew or bottle opener?” she added, looking abruptly up from her task to Victoria’s face.

She was cuter up close. Victoria had appraised her outfit when she first saw her, she did that with everyone, but there was a fog that came with endless customer service, and a fog that came with hangovers, and now with no fog and no coffee orders between them, Chloe was startlingly pretty. All big blue eyes and soft looking blue hair and she… had not answered the question.

“Bottle opener — they’re just ciders,” she said, quickly. “And I parked down by the beach and walked up.”

“Alright, cool, that makes sense. Aha!” Chloe pulled out the bottle opener from the drawer with a flourish. She gestured up at the ceiling. “Shall we?”

“Lead the way,” Victoria said, and she wondered if Chloe had any more of a plan for this than she did as she followed her up the stairs.

* * *

Chloe, it turned out, had had a plan. A movie — Chloe’s favourite, _Scott Pilgrim vs. The World_ , and an accompanying drinking game. She had beer, which Victoria declined, but there were enough hard ciders for the both of them. Chloe had offered to crack out the vodka “for the lady” later if needed, too.

With some pretty thorough drinking game rules, they were both a lot more relaxed in each other’s company by the time they reached “chicken isn’t vegan?” Victoria had even acquiesced to sitting with her legs up on the bed, instead of awkwardly perching on the edge of it as she’d begun. Chloe was sprawled on it like she owned the place which, she kind of did, to be fair.

“Wait a minute. You didn’t ask me out because you saw me in a dream, did you?” Victoria asked. Then she realised something. “No, wait. Look at your hair. You’re clearly the Ramona Flowers here, did _I_ see _you_ in a dream?”

“Maybe, I’d be a great dream,” Chloe said, nonchalantly. “Hey, do you think Amazon delivery people have less weird experiences on the job than we do?”

“I don’t know, do you think they get drinks thrown at them regularly?” Victoria said.

“Oh man, do I have some stories to tell you if that’s only how weird it gets at your place.” Chloe pushed herself into a more upright position, readying herself to tell a good story.

“Alright, hit me.” Victoria knew she had better stories in there, but you never play your best card first, right? That’s a card playing metaphor that applies to some game, probably. If she knew card games other than Kings Cup.

“Okay so, we’ve got this regular at the Two Whales, right? We’ve got a lot of regulars, but this particular dude thinks he’s some kind of tough guy, likes to get all “you don’t know what I’ve seen” if he thinks we’ve skimped on the bacon, takes beer with his waffles.” Chloe said. “You know the type,” she added.

Victoria did not know the type, but she watched Chloe and waited for her to carry on. She wanted to find out where this was going.

“Anyway, so one day he comes in and he’s mad like hell, more than usual, and when one of the waitresses tells him he’ll have to leave if he doesn’t stop being verbally abusive? Dude rips off his jacket, and his shirt with it, and he’s been stabbed or some shit before he even got there. Just bleeds onto the floor tiles in some act of protest about his goddamn _coffee_ ,” Chloe said.

Victoria laughed, a mixture of shock and amusement. “Oh, my god. That is worse than the whipped cream nipple lady.”

“That is probably worse than the whipped cream nipple lady,” Chloe agreed, faux-solemnly. “Unless, was the whipped cream nipple lady you? Because that would make it an even better story.”

Victoria snorted. “You wish,” she said, a little too late for it to be a timely comeback.

Chloe laughed and shrugged off her leather jacket, looking as warm as Victoria felt. She hadn’t been expecting the tattoo curling up Chloe’s arm, all thorns and ribbons and flowers, and she wanted to touch it. A weird response, she was sure, but tattoos always impressed her. They never looked like they should just _be_ there, but they are. Obviously.

“You know,” Victoria started, and she took a moment for some Dutch courage. “You’re kind of hot, when you’re not being annoying.”

“Well, shit, that puts me at a disadvantage,” Chloe said, “because you’re hot even when you are being annoying.”

The way they were looking at each other, Victoria knew what was coming next, and she refused to savour the moment. No slow lean in, no Chloe taking the lead — she wanted just one up on this stupid, infuriating, frustratingly cute girl who made her feel so flustered. So the drink was put aside, and she launched herself at the girl beside her.

Chloe, to her credit, definitely let Victoria get one up on her. Literally. Between the element of surprise and an unexpectedly bouncy mattress, the two overbalanced, and Chloe ended up underneath her.

Judging by her enthusiastic response, it was not a position she objected to being in. Though the first lip bite may have been of shock? Definitely only the first one, though. The ones that came after were an invitation to only get more entangled in each other, an invitation that Victoria gladly accepted.

Her fingers wrapped themselves in the hem of Chloe’s shirt in a moment of nervous indecision that she hoped came across as teasing. She’d never gone further than this before, not at the parties.

“Wait, no.” Chloe turned her head a little to the side, breaking the kiss.

Oh. Okay, then. Victoria righted herself a little, her breathing still ragged.

“Fuck. My step- _douche_ is home early, I just heard the door. Your stuff is all up here, right?” Chloe said. She scrambled out from underneath Victoria and began hiding the alcohol. Victoria felt a little vindicated to see that Chloe was also flushed, as if she needed more proof than a tender lip that Chloe had also been into it.

Victoria had only come with her keys, phone and drinks, so that was fine. “I’ve got everything with me.” She was still on the bed, not really sure what to do with herself.

“Okay, good. You’ll have to climb out the window before he comes in here to yell at me about whatever bug has crawled up his ass today,” Chloe said. Like that was normal or something.

“What?”

“It’s not like you’ll have to stick the landing, there’s a flat roof underneath,” she continued. “It’s that, or hide under the bed like we’re kids playing hide-and-go-seek. Go!”

Victoria wasn’t sure clambering up on her desk to get out was much more dignified than hiding under the bed, but she didn’t think the latter was a real choice there. And at least Chloe wasn’t lying, it wasn’t a far drop out of the window.

* * *

That… was way closer than Chloe had wanted it to get. The blowout that came moments after Victoria had left didn’t last much longer than usual, they’d got it down to a routine now, but she was still pissed about being interrupted. She and Victoria could have had more time together before having to show her out through the front door, like a normal person.

Chloe had no idea where they stood, now. She wasn’t one for weird dating games, but she sincerely wasn’t sure if shoving someone out the window was grounds for them to hate you forever after that. Honestly, she was surprised Victoria had let go of the grudge from before so readily.  

> _Hope you got back safe. DUI is a serious offense in Oregon, you know._

At least Chloe didn’t have to wait long for a response.  

> _It’s okay officer, I’m only a little buzzed._
> 
>  
> 
> _And I stopped for a smoke on the beach, too._
> 
>  
> 
> _It’s fucking cold out, did you know?_

Chloe wasn’t sure why it cheered her that Victoria was a triple-texter, but there it was. She felt cheered.

> _Fucking cold indeed, Tori_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not technically, _technically_ , in hiatus hell anymore!


End file.
